Nell's was unheard, for she, poor child, with her head drooping on his shoulder, had fallen asleep, and slept too soundly to be roused by any of his efforts to awaken her to a participation in his glee.
The supper was very good, but she was too tired to eat, and yet would not leave the old man until she had kissed him in his bed.

He, happily insensible to every care and anxiety, sat listening with a vacant smile and admiring face to all that his new friend said; and it was not until they retired yawning to their room, that he followed the child up stairs.
It was but a loft partitioned into two compartments, where they were to rest, but they were well pleased with their lodging and had hoped for none so good.

The old man was uneasy when he had lain down, and begged that Nell would come and sit at his bedside as she had done for so many nights.

She hastened to him, and sat there till he slept.
There was a little window, hardly more than a chink in the wall, in her room, and when she left him, she opened it, quite wondering at the silence.

The sight of the old church, and the graves about it in the moonlight, and the dark trees whispering among themselves, made her more thoughtful than before.